


Things @ Home

by YellowSpatula



Series: Isak and Even - Grønne Gardiner [7]
Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, But it's okay bcus they love each other, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, They're very dramatic, like very
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:48:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22425826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YellowSpatula/pseuds/YellowSpatula
Summary: The things Isak and Even learn about each other after moving in together.
Relationships: Even Bech Næsheim/Isak Valtersen
Series: Isak and Even - Grønne Gardiner [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1438822
Comments: 11
Kudos: 172





	1. i

i

They’ve been living together for two and a half weeks the first time Even wakes up to Isak tossing and turning next to him. The clock on the wall tells him that it’s two thirty in the morning, but Isak’s still awake. 

“Baby? Are you awake?” he asks into the dark, stilling at the sigh coming from where Isak’s lying on his left.

“Yeah. Sorry.” Isak sounds exhausted. He’s got every right to be, too. He shouldn’t be awake at this hour. Sitting up, Even flicks the light on and turns to his side. Isak’s turned away from him, facing the wall, shoulders tense.

“Isak.” He places his hand on Isak’s shoulder, but Isak rolls his shoulder back and Even pulls it back. “Isak. Please look at me.” At the slight plea, Isak turns around, but he still doesn’t meet his eyes. “Hey, baby, I’m up here.” He cups Isak’s chin and softly tilts his head so that his eyes finally meets Isak’s. They’re filled with unshed tears.

“Hi,” Isak whispers, so quietly that Even nearly doesn’t even hear it.

“What’s going on?” 

Isak sniffs before answering, “Couldn’t sleep,” he says, voice small and careful.

“Does this happen often?” He hates that he has to ask, but he just doesn’t know. He’s always the one falling asleep first, with Isak in his arms and small breaths tickling his neck. He always assumes that Isak’s quick to follow. 

“Not anymore, not since…” _Since you_ , Even hears, even though Isak doesn’t say it. And normally, a confession like that would sweep him off his feet, but now it only calms his worries a teeny _tiny_ bit.

At least he’s not a _horrible_ boyfriend.

“It used to happen before?” Isak’s curled up next to him now, and Even takes it as a win.

“Yeah,” Isak whispers, “I’ve never had a good relationship with sleep, but then when dad fucked off and mom...well, I’d go days without sleep.” The confession makes Even want to pull Isak close to him, and never let him go.

He listens to his instinct, pulling Isak so close to him that there’s not any space between them. He takes a deep breath before speaking. “Do you know what triggered them to come back this time ‘round?” Isak almost flinches away from him as he hears Even’s question, but the arm around his waist stops him.

“No,” Isak hurries out. At Even’s sigh, he continues, “Or well. It’s mom. I know that she’s not, like, a _huge_ fan of the gay thing, or anything. She’s okay with me, but generally…” Isak scoffs, causing more tears to spill, “Generally she’s not, and she’s been texting me a lot, I think she’s spiraling again. And then there are all the exams, and I think I need to get a job, and it’s all too much, Ev. It’s too much.”

Even knows that there’s nothing he could say to make it better for Isak, so he tightens his grip around him and lets him burrow his face in the crook of his neck. 

“It’s hard, and I’m tired,” he says, voice cracking.

_It_ is _hard,_ Even thinks, _but I’ll hold you forever_.

An hour later, as Even has Isak in his lap and they’re listening to Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone - one earbud each - Isak tells him that maybe he should go to therapy, and Even’s sure that it’ll be okay. It’s not right now, but it will be. It’s _them,_ after all.

**  
  
**

ii 

Isak’s allergic, and he’s _the cutest_ while being so.

It’s the beginning of May and the furniture on their balcony is starting to gather up a layer of yellow powder on its surface. That doesn’t stop Even from sitting out on the turquoise plastic chair they got at the flea market the other week - feet propped up on the table in front of him, lit joint poking out from between his lips, though. 

As always, he’s lost in the sounds from the streets below and the smell of freshly baked bread coming from the bakery downstairs, so he doesn’t pay attention to the wheezing and sneezing coming from inside. 

It’s not until the door he’s left ajar slams shut that he notices his watery and red-eyed sneezing mess of a boyfriend standing on the other side, glaring out the window. He’s stood wrapped in their duvet, his honey colored hair a mess atop his head. His nose is running and Even can practically hear him snuffling.

“Isak? You okay in there?” His boyfriend only shakes his head in response, and then stumbles back to bed.

Even steps inside, eventually, and Isak gestures to the door in silent command for Even to close it behind himself. When he reaches the bed in the corner and he sees Isak tucked into the duvet like a burrito, Even knows that something’s wrong - Isak hates blanket burritos (or so he says, but Even has seen his pink tinted cheeks whenever Even tucks him into one).

That’s why Even - when Isak waves his reassurement off and only burrows himself deeper under the blankets - stays and plops down next to him. 

“Issy? Are you sick?” he asks.

The silent muttering coming from under the blankets tells him that Isak is actually, like, fine enough to be alive, but he’s still not fine enough to move from his place in the corner of the bed, face peeking up from under the blankets. 

“Yeah. ‘M fine. Only a little,” a loud sneeze squeezes it way through and interrupts him, “Bit ‘llergic.” Isak takes the sleeve of his shirt and uses it to dry under his nose (Even makes a mental note to put it in the hamper later). “Thought I was over it, but apparently fucking not.”

Even’s carding his fingers through the few leftover curls after Isak’s last haircut and Isak hums happily, “You don’t have any meds?”

Isak opens one of his eyes and then closes it again, “No. Haven’t noticed my allergies since I was thirteen. Doctor told me I’d grown out of it.”

“Well, bad news, you obviously haven’t.” At this, Isak scoffs and scoots closer to where Even’s sitting.

“No shit, dude,” he mumbles and curls around Even’s leg, head resting on Even’s hip.

When Even asks if they should get Isak a doctor’s appointment, he takes the sneezing and muttering as response.

**  
  
**

iii 

When Isak gets into something, he gets _into_ (not physically, obviously) it. No matter his surroundings.

Even’s well aware of that, and yet. He’s horny and he ~~wants~~ needs Isak to do something about it. And yes, he’s one hundred percent aware of his right hand, but he’s also _super_ aware of his hot-ass boyfriend sitting at the kitchen table, nose buried in textbooks.

Even knows, just as much as the next person, that he shouldn’t disturb someone who’s working - _especially_ if they’re doing schoolwork - but he really can’t help it. Isak’s wearing his (their?) grey sweatpants which Even knows are ridiculously easy to pull down in the middle of a heated makeout session, and he’s wearing a tight t-shirt that show off his abs perfectly and Even just _can’t._

He really wants Isak to succeed and get into a good university and become a biophysicist like he’s always wanted, and all that, but he also _really_ wants to kiss his way down Isak’s chest. It’s okay to be selfish sometimes, he figures, so, against his better judgement, he sits down next to Isak and slowly starts running his hand up and down the inside of Isak’s thigh.

It doesn’t have the effect Even would’ve wished, though. Instead of turning to putty under Even’s touch, Isak doesn’t seem bothered, like, _at all._ Judging by the way he only turns a page and scribbles something down in his notebook, it almost seems like he hasn’t even noticed. Even tries again, fingers trailing up Isak’s torso, but still nothing. Not even the kisses that Even plants on Isak’s neck trigger _shit_. 

If it wasn’t Isak’s attention he was failing to get, Even might’ve been annoyed, but now he can only sigh in disappointment before going back to just _looking_ at Isak. At Isak’s content hum and eager note taking, something that can only mean that he finally understood something he had trouble understanding earlier, Even can feel his heart doing something in his chest - he’s pretty sure that it’s some kind of celebratory dance - and he’s just so proud.

For a moment, Isak pauses and Even hopes that Isak’s finally noticed him. But no. The only thing Isak’s noticed is the empty mug he’s now holding in his right hand, and his face folds into a grimace. When Isak turns in his chair and flinches back at the sight of Even, a laugh bubbles up Even’s throat.

Isak’s not as amused, he only glares and holds a hand over his chest. “Even! You fucking scared me to death, you idiot.” 

Even fondly rolls his eyes - his boyfriend is _such_ a drama queen. “I’m sorry baby,” he’s still laughing, so it comes out in forced breaths, “I didn’t mean to scare you, I only wanted you to look at me.” Normally, Even wouldn’t be this clingy, but c’mon. He’s horny and his boyfriend is so smart and sexy and cute and-

“Whatever.” And then Isak has _the nerve_ to roll his eyes at Even’s clinginess - which, if Even may add, would cause Isak to drag him to bed any other day - before going back to his books, wordlessly holding up his empty mug in Even’s general direction in silent question.

And god, Even hates that he can’t resist taking the mug, making sure that their fingers brush (Isak still doesn’t seem bothered) and then refilling it with milk before putting in four spoons of chocolate powder - Isak would literally _kill_ him if he dare put even half a spoon more into the milk - and a couple of marshmallows. 

When he steps in behind Isak’s chair in order to put the mug on his right side, he cards his fingers through Isak’s curls in a way that Even knows he loves. It still doesn’t affect him.

He ends up using his hand as solution, to his utter disappointment. 

That night, as Isak’s curled up in Even’s lap with his laptop perched on his own lap, Even has given up in trying to get Isak’s attention. He’s horny for the second time that day, but he’s satisfied as long as he’s got Isak pressed against him. Isak’s busy with some essay, and Even’s watching The Intouchables for the French class he’s taking - it’s a damn good movie, too, so he’s not complaining. It’s hard to focus, though, with Isak’s ass pressed against the growing hardness in Even’s pants, and with the way Isak’s fingers move with such grace over the computer keys. 

For his own personal gain, he gently moves a little bit to the side, just to relive some of the pressure, but it only does the opposite and suddenly Isak’s ass is pressed _right_ against Even’s crotch. It causes Even to groan, and literally _any_ other day this would make Isak turn around and shove his hand down Even’s pants, but now nothing happens and Even’s growing frustrated.

He starts kissing down Isak’s neck, and judging by the goosebumps rising on his skin, Isak’s body is aware of it, but Isak himself isn’t. Then he runs his fingers down his back and along the waistband of his boxers, and Isak _still_ doesn’t react.

When Isak finally closes his laptop after what feels like hours (but probably only is something like ten minutes) it only takes a few seconds until he whips his head around and furrows his eyebrows, “Even, is that your _dick_ pressing against my ass?”

(Isak takes care of Even’s problem, in the end.)

**  
  
**

iv

Isak’s jealous of straight couples. Or not, like, _straight_ couples. He’s just jealous of how _easy_ they have it (honestly, who isn’t though?). Even finds this out on a Tuesday in July, and he feels stupid for not seeing it earlier. 

It doesn’t come like a surprise, not at all, because they’re a gay couple in two-thousand-fucking-seventeen, but _still._ They have this promise of talking about whatever might trouble them, and yet- Isak didn’t. It breaks Even’s heart, a little. 

There are a lot of clues that Even probably should’ve picked up on, like, _earlier._ It’s not like Isak was being subtle. He’s the worst at subtle (always has been), so Even _should’ve_ picked up on the signs being thrown left and right around him.

The glances cast over their shoulders and onto the straight couple making out against the pole - not being the cause of a single raised eyebrow - on the jam packed tram that Wednesday afternoon. 

The times Isak snapped when one of their friends talked about how _great_ their relationship was. How they had held hands on the way there. How they had kissed at the store. How no one made any comments about it. 

So yes- a few obvious signs, probably. Even hadn’t picked up about the fact that it was about _heterosexuals,_ only that there was something Isak really, really didn’t like.

Anway, when he comes home to an Isak propped up on the windowsill, joint hanging from the corner of his mouth, that Tuesday afternoon in late July, he can’t help but voice the wonders and worries that have hung over his shoulders the last month. 

“Is, why are you smoking so early?” he asks, and at Isak’s sharp head turn, he wants to stuff the words back into his mouth.

Isak’s expression says it all. It’s not Even’s business, or at least that’s what Isak thinks, because his face scrunches together into a scowl and he huffs loudly, “It’s not any of your business, is it?”

Usually, that’d be Even’s reaction whenever Isak accidentally let himself be a bit too monitoring and that’s what he’d sound like back with Sonja, when her way of greeting would be to open the window, sigh in disappointment, and take his joint from him. So, Even knows, better than anyone, to not ask shit like that. 

Yet, he can’t stop what comes out of his mouth after that.

“It _is_ my business, Isak, especially if it worries me.”

_Wrong thing to say. Really wrong thing to say._

Isak turns away from him and mutters to himself, “Fucking ridicoulous.”

Maybe that’s the final straw for Even. And like, he’s usually a guy with tons and tons of patience, but somehow, this one day, it all goes a little bit further down the drain with every scoff and huff of Isak’s.

“What? Trying to get your sweet revenge now, or what?”

The word burn like venom on his tongue. Never ever in a million years could he imagine being this mean to his sweet, sweet Isak.

“What’s it to you? You’re so fucking annoying, god,” Isak mutters, and Even crumbles.

That, right there, is Even’s greatest fear materializing. It’s the fear of dismissal, of him not being wanted, of _never_ being wanted again. And maybe, just _maybe_ , he’s a bit too dramatic. Whatever.

“Do you-” Even starts, “Want to like...break up, or something?” 

That catches Isak attention, but he’s still mad, eyebrows scrunched together and lips pulling downward. “No. Just- Just leave it, okay? I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t care whether you want to talk about it or not. We’re talking about it, now,” Even says, and sits down opposite Isak on the windowsill. Their feet bump together, and Isak’s quick to pull his legs into him (it hurts, just a little bit, even though it was to be expected).

Isak doesn’t say anything, he only scoffs and turn his head away, focusing his gaze on something happening down on the street. He’s waiting for Even to leave, the tension thickening the air between them. When Even doesn’t leave, Isak sighs and puts out his joint.

“I’m just a bit tired, okay? No need for you to get your freaking panties in a twist.”

Even rolls his eyes and softens his voice, “Drop it, Isak. Seriously. I know what you’re like when you’re tired, and this isn’t it. Please just talk to me.”

It’s quiet for a long time, after that. Eventually, Isak speaks.

  
“Uh, you know on my birthday? The guy on the street?” Isak starts, and Even knows _exactly_ where he’s going, “Yeah, well, it’s happened again. Not that, especially, but like, being called things, and stuff.”

And _oh no_ . It breaks Even’s heart, that it’s happened to his beautiful Isak, but he’s not surprised. Not at all. It’s happened to him in the past. It’s happening now. It will continue to happen for all time, but _Isak_ doesn’t deserve any of it. No one does. 

  
“Has it happened more than once?” Is what he chooses to say, instead of every apology and kiss that wants to come to the surface. It’s not the right time for that, right now. 

“Not like, a lot, but a few times. Like, people at work have seen my pride pin, or I’ve mentioned you and they’ve all tilted their head and almost _pitied_ me, as if I’m sick or something. It’s fucking shit.”

Even’s _way_ too familiar with pity. He’s been pitied for most things, actually. For being bipolar. For having to repeat a year. For being pansexual (then it has always been people saying something fucked up about “ _not making up his mind”,_ and honestly, what the _fuck_ ). Pity has this way of closing in on you. Of almost suffocating you.

“Pity sucks,” he says, and he hopes that Isak gets what he’s saying. That he understands.  
  


And, he does, thank god. “Yeah,” he huffs.

Then it’s quiet again.

“It’s just so fucked up, isn’t it?” Isak says, “That people actually _pity_ me for being gay. Like, there’s nothing wrong with me. I’m fine. I’m super fine and I’m a superfan of dick, and I don’t see how that’s something to pity me for.”

  
“It isn’t. They’re just... fucking stupid,” Even concludes, and Isak huffs another “yeah” in agreement.

“I love who I am. What I identify as. I don’t want to be anything else. I can’t _imagine_ being anything else, honestly. It’s just- I wish we didn’t have to be seen as _weird_ or _sick_ or whatever. You know?” 

And Even _does_ get it, he does. But as Isak said, he can’t imagine being anything else. Having Isak by his side makes it easier, though. If they’re weird, then the least thing they can do is be weird together. It’s the least thing they deserve.

**  
  
**

v

Isak’s the cutest person in the entire fucking multiverse (honestly, Even’s been knew).

It’s when Isak’s leaning against him, looking out over the sunset on the beach in Morocco, that Even notices _it._

If Isak wasn’t resting against his side, he wouldn’t have noticed it. It’s not overwhelming, but when he’s noticed it he can’t un-notice it. It’s there and Even loves it.

“Baby, did you use my shampoo?” 

It makes Isak turn to him immediately, eyes darting away from him and a blush coloring his cheeks. He’s embarrassed, and it makes Even’s insides warm.

“Uh, only like once or twice. Mine ran out and I can’t find it here,” he says, and adds a weak laugh. He’s so embarrassed, Even wants to wrap him in his arms and never let go).

“Don’t you use that Head and Shoulders one? The one you can find literally everywhere?” Even teases him softly, the hand on Isak’s leg a steady weight to assure him that it’s _fine_ \- more than fine, even - he’s pretty sure that his nose buried in Isak’s curls gives off the same message, though.

He doesn’t want to be creepy and smell his boyfriend’s hair, but he also can’t resist. Even though he _loves_ Isak’s scent with all his heart, there’s something so extremely _hot_ about Isak smelling like coconut and vanilla, like _him._

It’s not just hot, either. It’s so intimate and domestic, and it’s everything that Even has ever wanted (and more, because of course it is. It is _Isak,_ after all).

Isak’s still blushing, though, and he quietly says, “I wanted to smell like you, because- because you’re my favorite,” and Even melts.

Like, he literally _melts._

He’s deflating and soon Isak’s folded up in his arms, Even’s nose still buried in Isak’s prince like curls.

“Really?” Even can’t help but ask after a while, still breathing in the sweet scent of him on Isak. It makes his heart rush inside his chest and blood travel up to his face. He’s so full of love for his Isak in that moment. 

Isak pulls away a little from Even and looks up at him with a small smile over his lips, “Really.”

And well, Even can’t help but lean in and whisper against his lips. 

“You’re my favorite, too.”

**  
  
**

vi

Isak is- 

Isak’s a _cat person_.

Ever since Even first saw Isak he’s imagined the same thing about their future together - them together in a house on the outskirts of Oslo, lying in a hammock together, a golden retriever resting by their feet, head perched atop their entangled legs. Call him cheesy all you want, but that’s the picture that’s kept him going every time his days at Kaffebrenneriet and its customers have been close to sucking the soul and life out of him.

And on days like these, when Even’s by the stove and Isak’s sat on the counter next to him, excitedly going on and on about some book he read about in-depth gravity and how it works on their neighboring planets (while Even tries to keep up with what he’s saying, but Isak’s just so _smart_ and Even’s just _not_ ), he feels like those days aren’t too far away.

Just as Isak dives into an explanation of a certain physicist’s theory about gravity, Even pokes him in the ribs with the end of his ladle and asks for the oregano behind him - consequently interrupting Isak’s rambling. When oregano has been mixed into the minced beef in the pan, Even carefully takes a spoonful of it and quietly offers it to Isak. 

Isak gratefully accepts and swallows it, all the while a small smile playing on his lips. “This is delicious, baby,” he plants a small peck on Even’s cheek before continuing, “You’re such a good chef, you know.” This time, he turns Even’s face to him and pull him in for a kiss. 

When Even pulls away he rubs his nose against Isak’s and hums softly, “I know that I’m not a terrible cook, but I didn’t think I was _that_ good.”

At that, Isak only rolls his eyes and turns his head so he’s looking out the window, swallowing down the smile that threatens to break out on his face, “Shut up.”

Even turns away and continues stirring in the pans and pots on the stove in front of him, and Isak turns to the window, looking out onto the street below.

Just as Even’s about to offer another spoonful of bolognese, Isak scoffs.

“I don’t understand dog people. Like what’s so great about an uncool wolf that barks every second of every day?” He shakes his head and motions out to something on the street. “Take that lady as an example, it’s raining and it’s cold, and she’s out with her little rat dog, that, _by the way,_ is wearing clothes.”

Even looks out the window, and the small chihuahua out on the street is indeed wearing clothes, and when he sees his boyfriend scowling at the view, his world freezes. “ _What about the golden retriever we’re going to get?”_ he wants to scream, but instead he only takes a shaky breath and turns back to the pasta he’s making.

“You don’t like dogs?” He asks, and he hopes that he doesn’t sound as desperate as he’s feeling.

“Nah, not really. They’re annoying and way too stupid to understand that they can shit in a box and let themselves out, so you have to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to walk them.” Isak’s turned to him now, eyes dancing over his face. Even pointedly ignores it and continues stirring in the pot. 

“So you’re more of a cat person?” 

  
Isak shrugs and leans into Even, “Absolutely, can’t wait to get a cat with you, babe.” And as Isak cards his fingers through the hair at the back of Even’s head, silently asking for a kiss, Even can only obey.

(As Even starts kissing down Isak’s neck and Isak lets out a giggle - “I wasn’t ready for the neck action, Evy!” - Even forgets all about his little dream. As it turns out, he’s living it.)

vii

Isak didn’t have a lot of family pictures, growing up. It comes as a surprise to absolutely no one.

The picture wall is Isak’s idea. Not that Even minds, of course, but it’s still Isak that comes with the suggestion during the first morning in their apartment. 

Then, a few days before school starts up again, he suggests that they put up some pictures from the summer.

It goes on like that, Isak suggesting that they put up something on the walls - whether it be a picture of them or a sketch of Even’s - and Even agreeing, smiling all the while.

And it’s all fantastic and amazing, until Even notices _it_ . He’s just come home from his closing shift at Kaffebrenneriet, it’s six-thirty on a Saturday night and the only thing he’s wanted all day is to come home to his lovely, dreamy, and beautiful _boyfriend_ , but when he enters the main room, it’s empty. The only thing that’s out of order is the pile of photographs laid out on the floor, accompanied by picture frames in different sizes.

Stepping around the cramped room, he sees the nails sticking out the walls. Those certainly weren’t there when he left this morning. The pictures laid out on the floor aren’t just of them. Most of them are, of course, but some of them are of Isak and his friends, of Even and his friends and just random pictures they’ve taken some time - of the huge crowd at Roskilde, of a mural they saw while visiting Even’s grandparents in Trondheim, things like that. 

It’s not the pictures that worry Even, per se, it’s just the _amount_ of pictures. It’s an excessive amount, actually (and that’s _a lot_ considering it’s _Even)_.

Before they moved in together, Isak never came off as a sentimental type of person. Even used to be the one to _convince_ Isak to keep objects with sentimental value, even. That’s why all the pictures makes his insides crawl, just a little.

Maybe something’s actually _wrong_ with Isak. Maybe he’s sick or high or-

The door falls shut and eventually someone steps farther into the apartment. When Isak comes into the main room, he stops mid-movement as he catches sight of Even. Suddenly, he looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Isak? Where have you been?” He doesn’t mean to pry, he really doesn’t, but it’s hard to avoid when his chest feels tight with worry and his eyes feel watery.

“Just, uhm, running some errands.”

“Errands? What errands?” He’s coming off as overbearing, he knows.

“Sorry. I was just buying some frames, for my- uhm, photos.” He grows quiet at the last words, and Even knows he’s ashamed.

Isak knows that there’s a problem, Even can see that he does.

“You’re wondering what the fuck I’m doing. I know,” Isak gives in, shoulders slumped and eyes pointed down at his feet.

“You got me.” The hollow chuckle that finds its way past his lips is a poor attempt at lightening the mood, but instead it cuts through the tension. 

Even doesn’t know if Isak reacts to it, only that he swiftly moves across the room and plops down on top of their duvet, fingers clenched around the fabric.

“It’s just- a thing, I guess. From my traumatic childhood or whatever.” A dry laugh follows before he picks up again. “I just like having proof that there are people who live here. Who call this home.”

Isak hates sharing stuff about his past, Even knows that, but when he’s cracked the shell he might as well break it completely.

  
“Your parents didn’t do that?” It sounds like a question, but both of them know it’s not.

Isak rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Obviously not.”

See, Even _knows_ that Isak didn’t have a good childhood. He doesn’t know all the details yet, but he knows that it must’ve been horrible enough for Isak to leave home at sixteen, because c’mon. Of course he does. It’s just that his heart always twists just as much every time someone so much at hints at it, because his soft and sweet Isak isn’t supposed to feel like that, ever. 

“Is,” he sighs, “I know that you want to make this proof of home, but don’t you think that it’s enough for us to just...call this home?” He’s slowly coming closer and closer, until he can reach out and take Isak’s hand into his own. 

“I don’t- I don’t know,” he whispers, and he sounds so confused that it hurts Even, just a little.

“That’s okay, too. I just want you to feel that this is our home, we’re home, and that no amount of pictures will ever make it more or less home, okay?” He squeezes Isak’s hand as reassurance. 

Isak gives him a watery smile and looks out the window, late Oslo sun drenching him.

(If Even takes a picture of Isak in that moment and hangs it over his night stand a week later, it’s neither here nor there.)

**  
  
**

viii

Look, it’s not like Even doesn’t know that Isak loves him. He does, but he still doesn’t fully believe it when Isak tells him just how much he loves Even - “Y’know, Evy, you’re the absolute best thing in my life.” - because it’s just so _much._ And it brings on these big responsibilities, too. Now he’s a constant in Isak’s life and will be for a long time, probably, (he has absolutely zero problems with that, it’s just a lot) but it’s still-

  
“Even? Baby? Have you seen my keys?” Isak’s voice breaks his train of thought and Even shakes himself out of it before he stands up and makes his way over to where his boyfriend’s standing by the bathroom sink, a yellow toothbrush in his mouth and a small spot of white toothpaste at the corner of his mouth. 

God, Even loves him.

“I haven’t. Where did you see them last?”

Isak sighs, making some toothpaste sipper down his chin, “I don’t know! That’s kind of why I’m asking you, you know.”

Even rolls his eyes as he steps over the threshold, and closer to where Isak’s standing, right hand holding him up as he leans over the sink.

  
“Hah, always the comedian,” Even says and rolls his eyes, smile not once leaving his lips.

It’s been like that for the last year and a half, Even being all dopey smiles and heat pooling in his stomach. Whenever he tells others about it, they call it being in love, but Even’s pretty sure it’s just Isak, though.

Like, there must be _something_ special about him if he can manage to be the most beautiful man in the whole-ass world even when his mouth is full with toothpaste and his hair has doubled in size (the fact that it’s his morning-after hair does not play into Even’s decision _at all_ ).

“But Evy,” Isak whines, “I can’t be late, you know that. This is, like, the last meeting before _russ_ starts. Vilde’s gonna kill me if I’m late!”

Ah yes, the sweet _russetid._ At first, Even had loved Isak’s ability to say no to the whole thing. He agreed that it was just a big capitalistic trap set up by society, and that it was stupid to put so much weight into drinking and sleeping around. Then, when Vilde finally managed to get Magnus and the boys on her side, and Isak put on his russ suit for the first time, Even fell to his knees ~~literally~~. 

And now, when Isak’s stood with his red suit tied around his waist, Even can’t do much else but to love the _russetid_ and everything that comes with it - even though it’s going to take Isak away from him for a couple of nights.

Isak whines again, something about Even being a poopyhead and not being supportive of him, and Even gives him a grin that’s supposed to be shit eating, but probably comes off as way too soft.

“Babe, I’m sure she won’t mind if you’re a couple of minutes late,” he says and leans down to leave a kiss on Isak’s neck, and Isak indulges himself for a few seconds before he pulls away and drops his head onto Even’s sweater clad shoulder.

“You know I think you’re, like, the smartest and bestest human ever, but are you _stupid_? This is Vilde we’re talking about,” Isak grumbles.

Even’s pretty sure that Isak is secretly terrified of Vilde (but then, who isn’t?).

He takes a few steps back and places his hand over his heart dramatically, “Isak Valtersen! To call the man of your life stupid! Such foolishness.”

Isak pulls the toothbrush out of his mouth and spits down the sink, “Stop it, Ev,” he whispers as he rolls his eyes with rosy flushed cheeks. “For real, though, have you seen my keys?”

“No. I can help you look, though.”

And he does, just not all that thoroughly, instead he makes some pit stops along the way, to poke Isak’s waist or to leave a kiss on his head. He finds the keys, in the end, hands them to Isak with a kiss on his lips and a promise to bring something home from work, later, for the two of them. Isak smiles and kisses him again. 

It’s not some big moment, in the end, the moment where he understands that Isak loves him _really, really, really_ much (like, _really_ much). It’s a couple of minutes after Isak runs out the door, that Even’s phone pings. It’s a photo of the limited edition CD Even’s been raving about for the last few days - _“It’s like every 90’s hip hop hit on one CD, Is, it’s beautiful!” -_ and a caption underneath the picture.

_I bought this one for you. Vilde’s gonna yell at me for being late, but it’s worth it. See u later <3 _

Isak hates being late. For everything. Not once has he been anything but ten minutes early. And now he’s willingly late, _for him_ . It makes him feel warm inside, and he texts a simple “ _i love u the mostest”_ back. 

_I love you the mostest, too._ Isak sends back, and Even believes it. 

They love each other the mostest. 


	2. ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things Even learns about Isak.

**En**

Even believed that epic love was love that killed you because he hoped it’d be what killed him.

It’s on the first unofficial movie night of theirs (Even keeps insisting that they should be held on Tuesdays, while Isak remains set on Sundays), a Thursday, that Isak asks something that’s been nagging on him for a little while.

“Movies,” Isak says, effectively breaking the silence between them, reaching for the remote to pause the movie playing on the TV.

“Yes?” Even’s leaning up against Isak’s chest, planted in between his legs, both of them tucked under a blue blanket that Even’s mother got for them.

“How did you get into them?”

The question causes Even to go on a ten minute monologue about the first movie he ever watched and that gave him a “ _wow, movies_ ” - moment, and how he kept exploring the world of indie as well as romance, and how that then shaped him into the person he is today. 

He’s turning around in Isak’s arms, eyes lightning up and the corners of his lips turning up. Isak’s threading his fingers through Even’s hair, watching as it curls around his fingertips, then bounces back into place as he lets go. It’s all just... _warm._

“So you were eleven?” 

(Isak tries imagining an eleven year old Even. He can’t. To him, eleven year olds are _gross_ , and Even- Even is very much _not._ )

“Yeah.”

“Huh. The tragic romance thing, then, how did that happen?” Isak asks, and the momentary warmth is gone. He feels Even’s body tense, and sees how Even’s picking at the loose skin around his nails. Isak puts his hand over Even’s, though, stopping the movement. “You’re going to complain about it later, when you wash your face.”

Even smiles gratefully at him, then, but only briefly, before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath in, then slowly letting it back out.

“It’s just a lot, is all. I wasn’t in a very good headspace, back then.”

“You don’t have to tell me, you know. It’s in the past, and you can choose to keep it there,” Isak whispers against the side of his head, tightening the grip around his boyfriend.

“No, no, I want to, I just. I need to come up with what to say.”

  
“Okay.”   
  


A minute or so passes, before Even finally speaks.

“My first manic episode. It wasn’t at the time that I got diagnosed, it was, like, a year and a half earlier, I think, and it wasn’t like the one in December. Not at all. It was a small one, but I still felt invincible, and I remember thinking that if I jumped out the window, it’d be a romantic and _epic_ ending to Sonja and I. That we’d be forever. I didn’t jump, obviously, but I watched every tragic romance I could find. Then I did that for, like, the rest of time. Convinced myself that epic love was the type that killed you. Wasn’t super keen on life right then, as you probably could’ve guessed.”

Isak exhales into the silence, not knowing what to say. Even’s strong, he knows that, and he knows that Even knows how Isak and words are _not_ a match made in heaven, but _still_. He doesn’t want to hurt Even, even if by accident. He wants to say something, but not something that will screw things up.

“Do you still think that?” is what he ends up asking, because it’s the only thing that he can come up with.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t believe our love is going to kill us,” Even says, and he rubs his nose against the side of Isak’s head, kissing behind his ear. 

It’s cheesy as hell, but Isak can only hope that Even’s right.

  
  


**To**

Even knows how to knit - not just the basics, either, he’s like _good._

It’s the beginning of June, a few days before graduation for Even, and instead of spending the night out partying, he’s sat in bed, holding his fucked up and selfish boyfriend who’s also the worst son in the entire fucking multiverse, probably-

“Hey,” Even says quietly, nudging Isak with his shoulder. “Don’t say that about yourself. You’re better than that, we both know that.”

“Sorry,” Isak sniffles, a little calmer than he was a few minutes ago, but it’s still- it’s still raw, like a fresh wound.

Even hums, hugs Isak a little closer to him. “She’s going to love whatever you give her, you know.”

Isak gets a sudden impulse to scream at him, then, but he buries it and groans, “I fucking know, but she’s been through so much and I- I know that she’s not a very good mother, but she’s still my mom. I just want her to feel taken care of, once in a while.”

And it’s true. Marianne hasn’t accepted professional help yet, but Isak’s been there - they’ve both been there - and they’ve fed her, taken away sharp objects from the house, cleaned the few wounds she has had. It’s not ideal, and they’re not there very often, but they’re reaching out - _Isak’s_ reaching out - and Marianne seems to slowly but surely reconsider the idea of getting help.

It’s probably the closest Isak has been to his mom since Lea passed away all those years ago, and while he knows that _normal_ is relative and not actually all that, well, normal, he still wants them to be mother and son. Have that relationship where he can take her out to dinner and spend a night there every once in a while.

Anyway, a beginning to such a relationship, he thinks, is to give her something for her birthday. He knows that everyone in his life gives their mom something for her birthday, and he’s secretly jealous. Always has been.

And now- now it’s six days away and he doesn’t have a clue about what to give her.

“Isak. Listen to me. She’d love whatever you give her. You could give her a rock and she’d put it up in a window somewhere, so she could admire it for, like, the rest of time.” 

Realistically, Isak knows that Even’s right - _however_ , it still doesn’t calm the wave of anxiety pulsating through him.

  
“I just- I want her to know how much I love her,” Isak mumbles, and Even must sense the anxiety he’s feeling, because he puts his arms tighter around Isak’s trembling body and leans his head against Isak’s t-shirt clad shoulder.

“I can knit something for her, if you’d like. Or I could show you how to do it.”

And- _what?_

“What? You know how to knit?” Isak’s voice is still weird from all the crying he’s been doing, but he cannot believe- “ _Knit?”_

Even only nods slowly, eyebrows furrowed, “You didn’t know? I thought I’d told you?”

He definitely hasn’t, Isak would remember that, and so he tells Even as much.

“I haven’t? Huh. I could swear that I told you. Anyway, yeah, I could help you knit something.”

And see- they promised each other back in February, after a particularly bad night for both of them, that they’d try to stop comparing themselves to one another. But now- now Isak can’t help but think that Even’s way too good for him. Even has just finished his exams, and should celebrate being a soon-to-be high school graduate, but he’s still offering to help.

“Even. I uh, I can’t let you do that,” Isak says slowly, as something deep in his stomach twists at the thought of being not good enough for Even (and for his mom, and Jonas, and most of his friends, probably). 

“Why? It’s not like it’s some hardship for me. I enjoy knitting, and plus, I need to get on Marianne’s good side. I can’t have her dislike her only son in law!” 

Well, when he thinks about it, maybe he can let Even help. Just this once.

(Marianne loves the colorful bookbag Even knits for her. When Isak tells her that he wasn’t the one to do it, and he’s sorry for not having a gift for her, she pulls her into his arms and calls him the best gift God could have ever given her.

It’s a good day, in Isak’s books.)

  
  


**Tre**

They’re three weeks from going to Morocco, and apparently, Even’s terrified of needles. 

“Yeah, but babe, the risk of us _actually_ getting sick is very, very small. Pretty much non-existent, really. I don’t think we should go and vaccinate ourselves.”

It’s the second hour of this, and Isak is over it.

“Even, you’re an adult, you can choose not to go and get the vaccine, but I’m doing it. It’s time for me to renew it, anyway,” Isak says, and sighs when Even twists in his seat.

“But I probably should, right? Like I could, theoretically, die if I got sick.”

“Whatever you want, baby. Whatever you want.”

“On the other hand, we could get sick from the vaccine, and have to stay home.” Even’s stalling, and while he usually does it so smoothly that Isak doesn’t even think about it, this time it annoys the shit out of him.

“Mhm.”

“What do you think, should I renew it?”

“You’re twenty years old. You can do whatever you want.”

“Would it be a good idea to renew it?”

“Even. Why can’t you just go and get the damn shot if you so want to?”

  
“I’m just considering my options here!”

  
“Evy, baby, the man of my fucking life, why can’t you just make up your mind?”   
  


Even goes quiet, at that, and looks out the window, face carefully blank. He opens and closes his mouth multiple times before he speaks, “It’s scary, is all,” is what Even ends up saying, and Isak, well, Isak laughs.

Then, he sees how Even’s eyes scrunch together, like he’s embarrassed, and Isak stops. He’d never try to make Even feel embarrassed, ever. Doesn’t matter if it’s silly or not - Even’s probably the person who least deserves being embarrassed like that, at least Isak thinks so.

“Needles?” Isak asks, and he tries to not sound condescending, _he does._

Even takes a shaky breath in, and turns to Isak. He looks pale - which, yeah, Even is kind of pale naturally, but this shade of white is one Isak’s never seen on Even before. It looks almost green.

“Yes. I’ve never liked them.”

“Didn’t that fear, uh, disappear as you got older? Especially after the- uh…” Isak trails off, his face heating up. He probably went over the line. He’s good at that.

“The suicide attempt?” Even helpfully supplies, speaking in a monotone. “Yeah no. Surprisingly, you won’t get over your fear of needles after having lots of them shoved into your arm after you tried to kill yourself.”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. But still. Didn’t it ever go away?” The small curdle of guilt in his stomach, over having said something he wasn’t supposed to, isn’t as big as it usually is. Maybe he’s gotten better at accepting his faults, but it’s probably just because it’s Even.

“No. I don’t even know how I got it. I remember that I had to get my blood drawn when I was like three or four, and almost fainted. Since then it’s been hell on earth, basically,” Even says, a small smile tugging on his lips. He doesn’t look ashamed anymore, not when Isak’s accepted it, he just looks tired of being afraid.

Which- yeah, Isak can definitely relate.

“Huh. Would it, uh, would it help if I was with you, if you decide to go and get the shot?” Isak asks him, drawing circles on Even’s left hand, which he’s managed to tug onto his lap.

“I don’t know, maybe. As long as you’re fine with maybe having to carry me out of the room.”

(Even _does_ get the shot, in the end, but it’s after a panic attack and after being promised a blowjob).

  
  


**Fire**

Even can’t fold sheets.

They’ve been living together for six months, and are coming up on their one year anniversary - so really, it shouldn’t be as annoying as it is. 

But yet it grates on Isak’s nerves more than any of the other annoying habits Even has.

Because yeah, it’s annoying when Even taps his pencil against the table as he works, yes it is annoying that he always forgets to buy something because he got so distracted by everything else.

Those things are a bit cute, at least.

This is _really really_ not. 

Because when their sheets are down in the laundry room, and Isak’s starting to use their second set of sheets to make the bed, he doesn’t want to have to _pull_ out their duvets and their fitted sheet. No, he wants to be able to lift them out in an organized order - folded, as they should be.

But no, since _Even_ was the last one that brought the laundry up, the sheets are tangled together and are taking up the entire drawer, causing it to almost get stuck. Isak almost falls backwards when he’s trying to get the sheets out.

Isak has talked to Even about this, multiple times, but he always gets the same answer.

“I try, but then I get so frustrated and I just end up giving up,” Even always says, and he always says it with the same pout on his face, so really, Isak can’t be blamed for always giving in and giving Even a kiss. 

This time, though, this time he’s had enough. Isak is going to wait until Even gets home from his shift at KB, and then he’s going to confront him. 

Isak huffs out a breath, gathers the sheets in his arms, and waits.

When Even gets home an hour later, and Isak has happily responded to Even’s, “Hey honey, I’m home!” (because he _has_ to, okay? He can’t _not_ answer like that), he stands up and makes his way out into the hallway.

Even’s just starting to untie his shoes, and placing them on the rack, and Isak decides he’s just going to do it nicely and calmly.

Until Even opens his mouth.

“God, we really need to organize it here, it looks like freaking Chernobyl happened here.”

Isak’s very, very, very little patience has officially been torn, and now he’s seething.

“Why can’t you fold the damn sheets every once in a while?” Isak all but yells, and the guilt that he’s expected to have come shooting at him comes in bouts of anger instead. He’s not ashamed for being a bit mad at Even, this time. He sees it as progress

“The sheets? I’ve told you, it’s hard to fold them,” Even says, pouting, and Isak has to focus on a point behind Even to be able to stay on topic. Even’s just a bit too cute, sometimes, and Isak can’t help that he’s easily distracted, okay?

“Can’t you just learn how to do it, then?” Isak sounds madder than he really is, and he’s also a bit riled up, but Even’s smile falling hurts more than it probably should.

“I’m sorry, Is, okay? I didn’t really think it bothered you this much. I thought it was only a little joke. I’ll try to get better, okay?”

Isak only huffs out an answer, and then he stomps away into the kitchen, leaving a confused Even in his wake as he slams the kitchen door.

It’s when he’s opening the second chapter of his physics textbook that a knock on the door pulls him out of his thoughts, and has him closing his book.

Even’s on the other side of the door, a sheepish smile on his face. “Come,” Even says, and, well, Isak’s always been bad at denying Even things. 

Out in the main room, their duvet has been folded into a heart. It’s not the first cheesy thing Even has done for him, and it’s far from the last, at least if Isak gets to decide.

“I’m sorry for not folding the sheets,” Even says, and Isak doesn’t even feel a twinge of the anger he felt earlier. It’s all been washed away and been replaced with pure adoration for this boy.

Behind Even, in the drawer, the sheets are still messily shoved, but really, Isak can’t be bothered.

It’s kind of cute, really. He can’t ever _not_ love something about Even, anyway.

  
  


**Fem**

Angry Even is Scary Even, at least that’s what Isak comes to find out, just a few weeks short of their second Christmas together. 

Just like Isak said to Eva; when it’s bad, it’s very bad. Things are rarely _very_ bad for Even and him, mostly it’s just small spots of “less good but still fine”, which then get resolved into something very, very good again. It’s never been _very_ bad, really. There’s been downs, sure, but it’s always been them against something else, and not them against each other.

  
This time, however, is different. 

It all started when Isak got a part time job at the library, which caused him to be home less and less. In the beginning, it wasn’t a problem. Even had his and Isak had his, and when they got home all time could be spent together. Isak always did all of his schoolwork at the library, arguing that Even simply was too distracting, so their home was, most of the time, a stress free zone.

Then, Isak’s dad started asking him about university, and talking to him about the importance of good grades. Then both Even and him started working on their university applications. Isak started studying more and more, and his time at home got less and less. Even’s questions about Isak’s whereabouts got answered more aggressively as time passed, and in the end they weren’t talking at all.

It all comes to its breaking point on a Friday in November, when Isak doesn’t come home. It was a long time coming, really, and he knows that he shouldn’t avoid going home but it just- it’s hard. Even and him rarely fight, but just that same morning they had had their first actual fight. Like a fight where they fought _each other._ It was their longest conversation in two and a half weeks.

And it’d been about Isak “leaving all the chores to Even”. Isak, of course, remained set on the fact that he _had_ been doing the things he was supposed to do, just as much as Even did. Even did not agree.

Their disagreement resulted in a shouting match which probably would’ve resulted in a noise complaint or two if their neighbors weren’t all half in love with Even. Anyways, now Isak’s not home, and his phone’s been going off the entire night.

**Even Kosegruppa <3**

**Even (18:06):** Hi baby <333 I’m sorry for this morning, I shouldn’t have put the blame on you. I made dinner for us, when are you coming home? Elsker deg

 **(18:13):** Is there a party tonight?

 **(18:30):** I put the pasta in the fridge. It’s waiting for you and so am I :))

 **(19:02):** Please answer, I’m worried

 **(19:21):** I’m sorry again. Please come home

 **(19:57):** I’ve called everyone and they say that they haven’t seen you. Where are you?

 **(20:28):** I’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean to hurt you 

**(20:59):** Please just tell me you’re ok

 **(21:21):** If you want to take a break or smth you should at least have the guts to tell me face to face

 **(22:29):** I’ve gone over to the Kollektiv and they haven’t heard from you either. Please call me. I love you

 **(23:44):** Your read receipts are on. Fuck you. 

“Fuck,” Isak groans, throwing his phone down beside him. He’s at Jonas’ house, the place that used to be his home away from home for god knows how long. It’s not the place he flees to anymore, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Dude, seriously. Call him. He’s called at least a dozen times, because he’s worried sick!” Jonas is annoyed with him in a way he rarely is anymore, and honestly, Isak can’t fault him for that. Isak fucked up, big time. He doesn’t do that a lot anymore, not when he doesn’t hate himself all that much, but well. Things change.

“I just- It’s all going to end up in fights and I don’t want that. I’m trying to save our relationship by just staying here and letting it all settle down,” Isak says, shoulders sinking in defeat.

Jonas sighs tiredly, “Is, you _do_ know that if you don’t talk to him soon, there won’t be much of a relationship to save?”

“You don’t know how our relationship works! This is better for us, I swear.” He doesn’t swear. Isak’s _pretty sure_ he’s wrong this time, but he also knows that it’ll be okay. Even never gets truly mad, so it’ll be fine. It’ll all blow over, they’ll promise not to do it again, and then move on. It’s always how it goes (maybe that’s not a _“healthy relationship”_ or whatever, but Isak doesn’t care).

So he spends the night at Jonas’ house, and leaves to go home by noon the next day. Jonas sends him off with a pat on the back and an all knowing smile, “Tell me how it goes,” he says, and Isak rolls his eyes. _They’ll be fine._

Isak walks into the apartment, expecting to be greeted by a wide eyed and regretful boyfriend to kiss, but instead the apartment’s empty. It’s totally quiet, except for the sounds from the streets below where cars are honking and people are running around, leading their own lives as Isak’s up here, _alone._

“Even? Baby?” he calls out, only to get no response. Usually, Isak loves the quiet. It’s his preferred space, really, but he wouldn’t ever wish for quiet without Even. Even’s _not been home_ before, of course, but this time’s different. It’s pretty clear that this time, Even’s running from him, and it breaks Isak’s entire being in half.

“Ev?” Isak keeps calling out into the apartment, even though he’s checked every room three, four, five times with no success. He keeps calling out for his darling because he’s afraid. He’s afraid that this is the time Even won’t come back to him.

**Even Kosegruppa <3**

**Isak (12:48):** I’m at home where are you?

 **(12:51):** I’m sorry about yesterday pls come home

 **(12:57):** Pls come home so we can talk

 **(13:01):** I hate myself too. come home

 **(13:05):** I’m sorry

 **(13:13):** I love you i love you i love you

And because Even’s a thousand times better than Isak will ever be, he comes home. He comes home fifty two minutes after Isak’s first text, but he does so silently. He barely looks at Isak when he enters the apartment, and then sits himself down at the dinner table, opens his laptop - all without another word to Isak.

“Baby?” Isak whispers into Even’s hair, hugging him from behind, “We need to talk.”

Even doesn’t answer, he doesn't even move, so Isak hugs tighter, tighter, tighter until there’s no room to breathe. Even shrugs him off, and Isak feels the cold spread in his chest. His vision blurs and his entire being aches. He just really wants Even’s warmth around him again, he can feel the phantom touch of Even along his arms and down his back. 

Isak dares to run his fingers in Even’s hair, messing it up as he goes, even though he knows the touch is unwanted. He’s a stupid man who does stupid things. Even shakes his head and sneers, “Fuck off, Isak.”

Even’s never been this cold, never been this mad at Isak. It’s not the first time they’ve fought, _of course._ They love each other, sure, but they’ve been living in scarily close quarters for quite some time, and sometimes things just flare up. It’s never, ever, been this bad, though. Isak gets mad, a lot, but Even just gets frustrated, at most. (Even’s too good for him, he really is.)

“I’m sorry. Okay? I’m so sorry.” Isak’s trying to not sound like he’s begging, even if that, admittedly, is what he’s doing. Isak _needs_ to show that he’s mature, too, that he can take conflict, too. 

Even shuts his computer and walks out of the room. He doesn’t even pretend to care about how Isak almost cries as he pushes off of his chair and slams the kitchen door behind him. It’s dead silent in the apartment, so silent that Isak almost wishes that Even wasn’t home.   
  
Then, at least, Isak doesn’t need to worry as actively about the breakup talk that will surely come as soon as Even calms down and starts thinking about his mess of a boyfriend. Isak’s never been this scared, ever. He’s always been left behind, so he’s used to it, he is, but he didn’t ever think that _Even_ would be one of those who leaves him.

Even’s promised, multiple times, that he won’t ever leave him. That it’ll _“always be the two of us, Is, always.”_ Isak’s always tried to object, but as time has passed, he’s stopped really _objecting,_ it’s been more like him teasing Even because he’s the cheesiest there is. He never should’ve stopped objecting. This, the actual part where he is actually being _left,_ would probably hurt less then. Would probably sting less if he was expecting it. This is the kind of shit that happens when he lets his guard down.

The day goes on without much more. Even’s cold, and silent. Isak tries to talk to him, to touch him, to make him scream, _anything_ \- but nothing works. Even’s seething with anger, and Isak’s being eaten up by guilt. It’s not just being out too late this once - it’s everything he’s been doing lately. Coming home too late and barely paying attention to more than his notes when home.

His education is something he prioritizes, yes, but so is Even. They’re no longer at a stage where they can choose to take a break from each other, or just decide to not see each other for, say, a week. No. They’re living together. A cohabiting couple is what they are. Both of them are in it for the long run, so it’s something they have to prioritize.

That’s not to say that he’ll just stop caring about school - _absolutely not -_ but maybe he could spend at least a fraction of the time he spends focusing on cells and organs focusing on Even, instead. Just the thought of him having spent the last month or so distancing himself from Even triggers so much anger inside of him, all directed at himself, it almost feels like he’s going to burst.

He takes a walk to clear his head, and when he comes back, the apartment’s dark and silent. The snow from outside is brightening it up some, but it’s still way too dark for either Isak or Even’s liking. Which can only mean one thing. Even’s left.

  
Even must’ve taken advantage of the time Isak spent away from the apartment, packed his bags, and gone to stay with his parents. There’s probably a note on the kitchen table; _I’m leaving you, Isak, because you are the worst boyfriend (and person) in the world._ A note that Isak will just have to accept as his final goodbye because-

Oh. 

Even’s in bed. He hasn’t left. He’s there. Curled up in their sheets, facing the wall, body tense, but at least he’s _there._

Isak believes in fate, and that everything that happens does so for a reason. He chooses to believe that this is his chance to make it right, and to make it last. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

Things aren’t alright yet, but they will be.

  
  


**Seks**

It takes both of them by surprise. Things had been _so, so_ good since Christmas, and Even finally felt stable - _normal,_ as he likes to say, despite Isak’s protests about there “being no normal”.

  
So when Even says, just a few days before his twenty-first birthday, “Is, I’m slipping,” Isak’s a bit surprised. He goes through all the possible causes for this slip to happen: Has Even been drinking more? Smoked? Been through a lot of stress or changes?” before he stops himself, and looks over at Even. What caused this doesn’t matter, what matters is Even.

“That’s okay. Is there anything we should do to prepare?”

Even’s mania is something Isak can handle. Sometimes it takes sleep from him, and sometimes it hurts him, but at least Even’s happy. He’s up and going. He might be a bit too up and going, but at least he’s up instead of down. 

The down part, though, is different. It’s something that reminds Isak so much of his mom, and the days she’d spend in bed, right before coming up and starting to chant about the devil and the evil spirits in the walls. The down part is the part that has Even so, so, so down that Isak goes down with him. 

He hates spending his days next to a quiet Even, who doesn’t accept any of the things being given to him. He hates it all. He doesn’t hate it because it’s a bother, or an inconvenience - he hates it because his happy Even is down and doesn’t think he deserves any of the things being given to him. He hates it because it’s at those times that Even hates himself.

He can’t help but worry about how Even isn’t eating, and about how Even’s looking a bit too skinny. He just _worries._ He worries about most things, really, and when Even’s down, it’s only more.

  
Isak’s not stupid, okay? He knows that Even won’t be magically cured just because Isak pulls aside the drapes or buys their favorite pizza (family sized - half pineapple for Even, and half kebab for Isak), but it helps calm Isak. It helps him see that things are under control, and that everything’s normal.

He doesn’t expect Even to get better by his doing any of these things, nor does he expect Even to even notice. That is why, when he gets back into the living room from having unpacked the groceries, he can’t help but be surprised at the sight of Even hauling himself up from bed, and grabbing the small plastic box of pizza salad from the dining table. He’s even more surprised by the fact that Even slowly but surely opens the box, grabs a fork, and starts to munch. 

Not a lot at the same time, but small, small pieces of salad.

“Hi,” Isak says, trying to stave off the surprise in his voice, but probably not succeeding. “I didn’t know you were up.”

Even only looks briefly at him, shrugs, and then goes back to staring into space as he chews on the thin, thin pieces of cabbage.

It’s not a lot, but it’s enough - more than enough - for Isak.

The day after that, Isak brings Even a cheese toastie right before he goes to school, but it’s left uneaten. When he gets home, he gives him a bowl of grapes. That, too, doesn’t get eaten. Isak, who is a scientist at heart, then goes and buys a pizza from the pizza place down the street, and includes a pizza salad despite his hate for them. 

When Isak comes back up with the pizza and the salad, Even only turns his back to him.

That doesn’t stave off his curiosity, however. The day after that, as he’s on his way to the tram, he decides to get a pizza from the same place he did the other day (a homey place that he’s been to with Sana once or twice, that offers halal meat), gets a pizza, some salad, and finally heads home.

Even eats the salad, and smiles a bit in thanks.

It means the world.

  
  


**Sju**

Even’s celebrity crush (as well as sexual awakening, which Isak _does not_ understand) was John Lennon.

“I can’t believe that now, when you have your own driver’s license, you won’t even use it!” Even whines, for probably the hundredth time since they left Oslo.

“Hey!” Isak says, scandalized. “This was _your_ gift to _me_ , mister. You bought us the tickets, which means you are responsible for taking us there.”

It’s true. The thing about Even getting the tickets is, at least. On May 17th, when Isak and his friends were partying their asses off for _russ_ , Even had surprised him with two tickets to Roskilde.

“A graduation gift for my hard-working love,” Even had said, Isak had preened, and the rest is history.

So here they are. On their way to Denmark, with Even in the driver’s seat of a rented car, and with Isak in the passenger seat, who has long since claimed to be the master of road trip music.

“But baby…” Even whines, jutting his bottom lip out in attempts to look cute.

It succeeds. Really, Even’s always cute, so Isak’s kind of used to it by now, so he just looks out the window and rolls his eyes, trying to hide his grin (he doesn’t manage to do so).

“Ev, you were the one who insisted on stopping in Gothenburg for a few days. This is on you. I would have been fine with taking the bus.”

“No, you wouldn’t’ve.”

Also true. 

It’s not like taking the bus would be some huge, huge, deal to Isak. It really wouldn’t’ve been, it’s just- it’s just the fact that it’s disgusting. There are probably a lot of germs on those buses, and there’s not enough legroom for him, especially not for both of them. It usually smells like shit, too, and the other people on the bus are always super weird.

So, long story short, Isak doesn’t like the bus.

“It’s disgusting, I told you!” 

Isak can _hear_ Even rolling his eyes.

“Yes, so you’ve said. You could still drive, though. You were the one who was so adamant on taking the car, after all,” Even huffs, but Isak can hear the smile in it.

Even’s not annoyed, not really. Isak would know. When Even’s annoyed, there’s a bite in his voice that always makes Isak’s stomach twist.

“You like driving, stop whining. We’ll be in Gothenburg in, like, an hour and a half. That’s nothing.”

Isak’s never been in Sweden before, even though it’s only a few hours away. Even’s been there, has family in Gothenburg that they’re going to visit, even. Isak’s barely been outside of Norway. He went to Spain when he was eight, to Germany when he was twelve, and then he went to Morocco with Even. His family weren’t poor, not at all, but his mom didn’t handle flying very well.

“Fine,” Even groans dramatically. “You will just have to entertain me, then.”

“Let’s play fuck, marry, kill.”

Isak was never a fan of party games, has always thought they were boring and childish, but since getting together with Even, he’s played more rounds of _Truth or Dare_ and _Never Have I Ever_ _(strip version)_ , than ever before. It’s their thing. The fact that they almost always end in sex and cuddles does _not_ have anything to do with why he likes it, not at all. 

However, even if they don’t end in sex and cuddles, it’s still something he enjoys doing with Even. It’s just nice, to talk about those things with someone he’s so comfortable with, and who he trusts with everything in him.

“Great idea. You’re so smart, baby,” Even says, and even though it’s over exaggerated, Isak preens under the attention.

“I’ll start. Beatles, Queen, and, what’s the name, uh, Rolling Stones.”

  
They’re turning onto another road, and Isak looks at how Even’s arms flex a bit with the movement and just _stares._

“Going british now, are we?” Even says in English, with the worst fake British accent Isak’s ever heard, but it still makes him want to do things to Even (his boyfriend is hot, okay?).

“Yeah,” Isak agrees distractedly, eyes still on Even’s arms and his mind replaying the sound of Even’s deep voice.

“I’d marry The Beatles, obviously.”

And- what?

He tears his eyes away, and just stares at Even. “What? Obviously?”

“Yeah? John Lennon was my sexual awakening, my celebrity crush. Still is,”

“ _John Lennon?_ ” Isak asks, convinced that he must have heard wrong.

“ _Yes_. He’s kind of handsome, in a hippie sort of way.”

Huh. The more you know.

  
  


**Åtte**

Even wants to marry him. Like, soon. It shouldn’t surprise Isak as much as it does.

The last box is packed, and they’re spending their last night in Oslo out on their balcony, watching as the sun inches closer and closer to the horizon. 

“I’m so excited for the future, baby, but…” Even says, putting his glass of white wine down with a clink, “I’m also really going to miss Oslo.”

“Same. I want to get away, though, I _need_ to get away. I’m tired of always thinking about mom when I pass by Sagene, and about dad whenever I’m down by the harbor,” Isak answers, eyes set on the end of the street, where he can see the traffic lights turn yellow and eventually red.

Isak’s still a strict beer drinker, but Even’s gotten a taste for the finer things in life, so he always buys a bottle of wine for himself. Sometimes they smoke, too, but now cigarettes instead of weed. They’re a bit more sophisticated now, one might say.

They don’t smoke often, though, because they’re both terrified of becoming addicts (Even more than Isak, probably), but every once in a while. Not at parties, but on nights like these. When their thoughts are going a bit too fast, and they’re thinking about all that makes them a bit sad in life.

This night is one of those, so Isak puts a cigarette between his lips, lights it, and inhales without even asking Even if he wants it, too. He probably does - and if he doesn’t, well, Isak likes smoking.

“It makes it less scary to leave, though, when it’s with you.”

  
Even says it so calmly, like he doesn’t understand how much it warms Isak to hear that. He’s heard it before, but it still makes him warm. Feels like a bit of a hug for his heart.

“Yeah,” is all he can say, only moving closer to Even so he’s sitting under his arm, up close to his side, and gives him the cigarette.

Then it’s quiet. It’s the type of quiet they both enjoy, bask in, when it’s just the two of them and their thoughts. Secretly, those are some of Isak’s favorite moments.

He likes every moment with Even, of course, but moments like these, where they’re just passing a cigarette between them (he likes them, okay, sue him), sitting closely together, and just _being._ Isak’s always liked the quiet, but he likes it more when it’s with Even. 

“Do you think you’ll come back to Oslo?” he says, silently exchanging the _you_ with _we_ because he can’t phantom a universe where they’re not together for the rest of time. It’s not very minute per minute of him to think so, though, so he doesn't say it.

“Do _you_ think _you’ll_ come back to Oslo?” Even retorts, and Isak can see where this is going. He should be annoyed that it’s not a real answer, but he loves Even too much. 

  
He just answers honestly, “Maybe.”   
  


“Then maybe I’ll come back.”

“Really?” He feigns surprise, but some of it is real, despite that he knew that this is where Even was heading. He still can’t believe that Even’s so happy to spend his life together with him.

“Really. Wherever you go, I go.”

“That’s not very minute per minute of you.”

“No, but it’s true. The only thing, though, is that we come back here, we should be Mr. and Mr. Bech Næsheim.”

And that’s not something they’ve really talked about. Of course they’ve talked about it, you can’t really spend as much time together as they do and just _not_ talk about it, but Isak’s not really _thought_ about it.

“Yeah? You want to marry me?”

“Of course. You’re the man of my dreams.”

  
(They don’t live in Oslo ever again, but four years later, they put _Bech N_ _æsheim_ on their door instead of _Valtersen/Bech Næsheim.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Even's phobia of needles is 100% based off of my own phobia. And no, I cannot just "deal with it", my mind sees needles as lions on their way to attacking me, okay?
> 
> Also, is kebab pizza a thing in the rest of the world? Here in Sweden it's the number one pizza, but idk if it's a thing in the rest of the world. I just assumed it's a thing in Norway, because we're basically the same country ngl
> 
> If you want to contact me, please do so on my Tumblr; OrangeSpatula

**Author's Note:**

> This has been my project for such a long time now, and I'm so relieved to finally have it out. It's been a couple of months now lmao.
> 
> Anyway, if everything goes according to plan, the next chapter will be about the things Isak learns about Even. 
> 
> Contact me on tumblr if you want to leave a prompt about literally any skam couple @ OrangeSpatula.


End file.
